


saturation.

by starsoft



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Eventual Smut, Fantasy, Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn, fallenstar!ten, gonna tag as i go, i mean wbk man's alr ethereal enough for me to believe it, yukhei's simping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:27:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26768755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsoft/pseuds/starsoft
Summary: yukhei finds himself impossibly drawn to a fallen star.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	saturation.

“No, no, take the grape flavored ones, those are better.”

As per usual on the night shift, Yukhei finds himself endlessly arguing with Jungwoo on what snacks they’re taking home from the dingy-ass Seven-Eleven they both work in, trying to ignore the ever-flickering overhead lights (that are just _begging_ to be fixed, but corporate won’t pay for it).

“I’ve have you know that grape flavored _anything_ is a crime against humanity, Jungwoo.”

“Ugh, whatever. Fine. Get your wimpy fucking strawberry hi-chew,” Jungwoo snaps, throwing his hands up in defeat.

Standard company policies: the employees get whatever’s expiring that day, whether it’s Chobani that’s suspiciously chunky, or baby carrots that’ll probably give you the worst 10 hours of your life in the bathroom. Given the fact that the two of them had been roommates for the last six months, these expiry nights always ended up in heated debates (last week, they’d spent half an hour arguing about a pack of pepperjack cheese).

Yukhei checks his watch - the dim green numbers tell him it’s half an hour from closing time. He shuffles through the shelves, glancing at blurry expiration dates, all the while tossing different items into a nearby basket.

“Can you hurry up, grandpa? We haven’t got all day, y’know,” Jungwoo whines.

“Last time I checked, _you’re_ the older one here.”

Yukhei reaches for a carton of grade-A, calcium fortified milk. It makes a weird, sloshy sort of noise, along with a weight to it that milk doesn’t _usually_ have - he shrugs it off anyways. Nothing he can’t handle.

“I’m pretty sure that’s gonna go sour by tomorrow,” Jungwoo observes, perched upon the counter. He sits there, almost pixie-like, sucking on a grape soda lollipop that he may or may _not_ have paid for.

Then again, Yukhei’s got steel for stomach lining. He gets a pretty disturbing flashback to the time he’d consumed an entire carton of expired eggs - then again, he’d survived.

"I finish these in a day, anyways," Yukhei snaps back. He tosses the carton to the side, and of course, at the shittiest angle possible - something he realizes mid-throw.

The carton hits the side of the basket _hard,_ tearing open with a dull thud, a puddle of milk spreading out unceremoniously on the floor (that he _just_ cleaned an hour ago), suspiciously in the shape of Australia.

They stare at the mess for a second, processing it, before Jungwoo slowly brings a finger up to his nose.

Yukhei realizes this a little too late. "Don't you dare, Jungwoo - "

"Shot..not."

Yukhei scowls, grabbing the nearest rag. "You're such a fucking kid, I swear to god."

Jungwoo only winks, swinging his legs back and forth. "The cutest kid you'll ever know, Xuxi."

//

By the time the incident’s cleaned up, it's well past closing time - Jungwoo's left earlier, mumbling something about a hot date - not that Yukhei was actually listening.

Gingerly, he turns off the lights, checks the shelves, lets the doors close behind him with a familiar whoosh as he locks up. Standard store procedure, or whatever it is. 

The night brings an unexpected chill - Yukhei shudders a bit in the cold, before tugging a pack from his pocket.

Menthol. It's a hard habit to break, he knows. He knocks the cartridge against his knuckles and fishes out a cigarette. _45% lowered lung capacity_ echoes somewhere in the backwash of his mind, probably from some demented anti-smoking campaign he'd been forced to watch back in high school. He reaches into his pocket, feeling right through the fabric. He’d forgotten his lighter.

He glances back at the store - he _could_ swipe one in thirty seconds flat. But at the same time, he's got a conscience. And his manager's got a million cameras (correction: five, but it might as well be) on 24/7.

It’s not really worth it. He pockets the cigarettes and trudges off bitterly, kicking a nearby beer can while he’s at it.

By the time he’s halfway home, Yukhei figures he could take a shortcut. He takes a sharp right at the next block, stops a couple times to try to pet every stray cat he comes across (the calico near the store is sweet enough to stick around for more than a minute - the tabby though, rips him a new one, right down his left hand. Fucking cats).

Now with a freshly bleeding cut and a rising temper to boot, Yukhei skulks along the final stretch to his apartment, swearing under his breath as he tries not to get blood in the milk bag he’s lugging along with him.

It’s all familiar, right up to the point where he turns into the same old alleyway he always takes, before he abruptly halts.

There’s someone there. It’s not entirely unsurprising, but at 3 in the morning?

He briefly considers turning the hell around and taking another street, but then again - this is the shortest way home. He braves it anyways, taking one apprehensive step after another, until he can make out a bit more than just a shadow.

A boy, lithe and thin and clad in and a thin shirt that just barely drapes off thin shoulders. There’s a heady scent of smoke that sinks deep into Yukhei’s veins and stays there, buzzing under his skin like electricity. 

Standing at six feet tall, Yukhei’s impossible to miss - as if on cue, he feels the boy’s gaze settle on him slowly, boring into him with well-calculated scrutiny. Well, so much for going undetected.

And of course, Yukhei stands there like a fucking _idiot_ for some reason, staring dead ahead, when he could’ve easily just sprinted down the alley, no problem.

The boy’s gaze lingers for a moment, careful glances that eventually fall towards the unlit cigarette clasped between Yukhei’s fingers.

"Need a light?", the boy calls out.

"Maybe."

The boy doesn't budge, simply jerking his head to the side - a noncommittal sort of sign to approach. Yukhei walks over - correction, _stumbles_ over, thanks to his untied laces.

Now that he’s closer, the boy’s features are so much _clearer_ \- blonde hair, soft and long and framing features that he can only describe as delicate, clashing with dark eyes, almost silver - Yukhei tells himself it’s just the light, the nearest source being a broken streetlight and seedy bar signs. Smoke curls between his fingers like blue thread, snaking out from the end of his cigarette.

“Here,” the boy motions for Yukhei to get closer, holding out a silver lighter. It’s dizzying, how close he’s getting, a weird mix of ash and orange groves fills his senses, almost sweet; he manages to steady himself and brings his good hand up with his cigarette.

A soft click, and there’s the familiar crackle as flame meets paper.

“Thanks.” Yukhei takes a grateful drag, hints of mint intertwining with the heady air.

"It's no problem," the boy pauses for a moment, eyes darting down. "Yukhei."

Yukhei balks a little. "Are you psychic?"

"Mm, I wish, but no. Guess again." The boy leans in closer, softly pressing a finger against the plastic badge on Yukhei’s chest. "Name tag." He tilts his head up to meet Yukhei's gaze, and his lips curl into the kind of smile that he can only describe as elfin.

Yukhei is pretty sure his heart just fucking stuttered, skipping three or four beats. He racks the corners of his mind for that one WebMD article about signs of a heart attack. Maybe a stroke. Or both.

"Well," Yukhei chokes, "What's yours?"

"What's mine?"

"Your name."

"Oh? " The boy tilts his head almost imperceptibly, before taking another drag. His lips are pale pink and like, he’s not gonna lie, pretty kissable. Wait - kissable? No. Shelving that thought.

"I just - um. No, I don't - " Yukhei sputters, "I just thought - "

The boy's laughing now. Sweet. Sort of melodic.

"It's Ten."

_Ten._

"Like the number?"

"Yup." Ten pops the p, lips pursing before he takes another drag, smoke curling between his fingers.

Yukhei is pretty damn sure he's gonna have a heart attack, right fucking _now._ He short circuits and ends up taking a horribly timed drag, coughing up half a lung in the process.

Blinking tears out of his eyes, he leans against the brick wall for balance, trying oh so very desperately to save what little pride he has left. “So, what brings you here?”

Ten shrugs, the collar of his shirt falling ever so slightly past his shoulder, exposing the bare, inked edges of what Yukhei can only assume is a tattoo. “Just wanted some privacy. My roommates can’t stand the smell.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Yukhei lets out a demented, choked part of a laugh, trying very, _very_ hard to tear his eyes away from Ten’s collarbone.

But there’s something undeniably odd about what he sees - all muscle, taut and pale and blemish free, how he’d imagine a figure skater’s built. But aside from that, there’s something _off._ A subtle, strange sort of glow, comparable to candlelight. Dreamlike and hazy, as if Ten exists on an entirely different plane, edges soft and blending into subdued white.

Yukhei rubs at his eyes, just to make sure he’s not fucking _hallucinating,_ only to detect the sharp, metallic scent of blood. Oh yeah - the cut. He makes a mental note to himself to kick that tabby’s ass the next time he sees it, and hastily tries to pocket the hand from view.

“Hold on a second.” Ten’s sharp voice cuts through the silence.

Before Yukhei can protest, slim fingers wrap around his sleeve, dragging his hand up into the light. A nearby sign flickers, lighting up his skin a sickly Limesicle green. He’d almost forgotten about it, but the cat scratch had been deeper than he’d thought, bleeding out into the cloth, dyeing a small corner of it a deep, uncomfortably dark scarlet.

Ten narrows his eyes, brows knitting together in scrutiny. “You’re bleeding.”

Yukhei winces a little as Ten prods at the wound - his touch is careful, surveying at most, but it still hurt like hell. “Yeah. I can see that,” he mumbles.

Another prod brings forth a fresh little trickle of blood.

“Mind if I ask why?”

There’s a beat of silence, Yukhei debating whether to tell the truth, or some grandiose, utter fucking lie (a street fight, maybe).

But his conscience gets the better of him, as it always does. “It was a cat,” Yukhei admits sheepishly, trying desperately to avoid Ten’s searching gaze.

“I can’t help but assume the _cat won?”_ Ten laughs again. Yukhei practically melts into the sound.

“Guess so. I’m betting on a rematch though,” Yukhei declares. He means it. Kind of.

“We love a fighter, don’t we?” Ten giggles. God, Yukhei shouldn’t be this damn _fond_ of someone he’s just met. “Now hold still, Rocky. This’ll only take a minute.”

As if on cue, Ten jostles through his pocket, before producing a small box of extra large bandaids, the jumbo kind that Yukhei dimly remembers slapping on his knees after soccer practices in the sixth grade, all bruised and grass-stained skin.

“You just walk around with those?” Yukhei asks.

“It doesn’t hurt to be prepared, you know.” Ten pops the box open with his thumb, slides out a bandaid, peeling off the white tabbed paper with, what Yukhei notices, are perfectly manicured fingernails in a murky, ashen grey. “Now, seriously. Hold still.”

Ten’s fingers are impossibly soft, deftly wrapping the bandaid across the wound, and in less than thirty seconds, the cut’s nowhere to be seen, save a few patches red peeking out past the edges. “In normal circumstances, I’d have this washed and sanitized first … but this’ll do for now.”

Yukhei tries to say something, _anything_ really, to thank him - but no words come out. Apparently, now he’s just absolutely, utterly useless in Ten’s presence, tongue twisting into a double knot. (send help)

“I - uh … ”

Ten simply cuts him off, glancing up from Yukhei’s hand. "Mm, don’t bother. I just leave people speechless sometimes," he laughs.

Yukhei swallows the lump in his throat, barely croaking out a reply. "I can see why."

"Oh? Elaborate, why don't you?"

"Well," Yukhei's brows furrow, his gaze dragging across Ten's features. "It's not hard to see why. You're like, uh. Real pretty."

It takes a couple seconds for the words to settle in, before Ten blushes. Or at least, Yukhei thinks he does. A faint halo forms around the boy's face. Barely there, the light frames his features, pale and ethereal. Real heaven type shit. It’s the same glow from earlier - only brighter, a visible ebb and flow of haloed light.

Yukhei finds himself unconsciously reaching towards Ten’s cheek. It’s warm. Comforting. The light emanates a faint warmth that’s reminiscent of candlelight, as if the tips of his fingers are dipped in sunlight.

He reaches closer, closer, until his fingers are just an inch away from grazing skin, before there’s a spark of realization, borderline panic that crosses Ten’s features.

Maybe he wasn’t meant to see that. The reaction’s swift, almost visceral, the way Ten freezes up, curling into himself.

In one singular, lurching motion, Ten ducks his head down. “I’d better get going. It’s late, after all,” he mumbles. The glow on Ten’s skin flickers ever so slightly, vanishing altogether as he lets his cigarette fall onto the damp concrete, rubbing it out under his heel.

The ash pitifully dies out, sputtering a few last glows of deep orange, before dying out completely.

“Well, it’s been nice meeting you, Yukhei.”

Yukhei could let him go, like any logical person should.

Too bad he’s stubborn as fuck, and _curious_ to boot.

As Ten turns abruptly on his heel to leave, Yukhei’s just ever-so-slightly faster, managing to catch Ten’s wrist - he doesn’t let go.

It’s a long shot, but he might as well try.

“Can I see you again?”

Ten visibly tenses at this, his shoulders caving in. There’s something in the way he’s trembling, almost imperceptibly, something even Yukhei can feel, as he keeps his grasp steady.

_Way to tell that to a fucking stranger, Yukhei._

Turning to face him, Ten purses his lips, scrutinizing the other for a brief moment. “Haven’t you ever heard of stranger danger?”

Maybe he really is psychic.

“I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask,” Yukhei protests. His hand remains clamped firmly around Ten’s wrist.

“We’ve literally just met, Yukhei.” The earlier, fae-like coyness is nowhere to be found in his tone, giving way to something incredibly tense, sharp on his tongue.

“Should it matter?” Yukhei asks, and he can’t help the soft edge of pleading that leaks into his syllables, mixes in deep and numbs the roof of his mouth. He doesn’t _get it,_ he wishes he can just _understand_ why he’s so drawn to the boy, a gravitational pull he can’t quite seem to escape.

It means something. He knows it does.

When Ten glances back at him, there’s something incredibly _fragile_ about the way he looks, and just for a moment, Yukhei regrets asking.

“You don’t understand - _this_ shouldn’t be happening. We’re just strangers who happened to meet, and that’s just it,” Ten snaps. There’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before, dipped in venom.

“Listen, this is probably really weird for you. I get it,” Yukhei pleads, “But there’s … I don’t know. Something. I just want to see you again, that’s all.”

Silence settles heavy between them, thick and heavy and strange, until Ten finally lets out a sigh.

“First, do me a favor, and _let go._ ”

Yukhei complies somewhat reluctantly - he does feel a twinge of guilt though, he’s always had the tendency of underestimating his own strength. It’s a fleeting glance, but he catches a sliver of skin past Ten’s sleeve burning an angry red.

Ten flexes his wrist experimentally before he glares in his direction.

“Tomorrow. That one cafe off 3rd street. 2pm,” Ten proclaims, his tone lilting, floating like waves. Some of the earlier tension melts with it, an ebb and flow of conscious thoughts, syllables, words past bitten lips. “One date, and that’s _it.”_

Yukhei grins. “I never said it was a date.”

Rolling his eyes, Ten jabs an immaculately manicured finger into Yukhei’s chest.

“Just promise me you’re not gonna sell my organs on Craigslist.”

Yukhei flashes a nervous grin. “I promise.”

“Hmm, I’ll take your word on that. You could’ve easily killed me at any point tonight, after all. I mean - look where we are.” Ten motions towards their surroundings. A dingy fucking alleyway at god-knows-when in the AM.

//

Yukhei doesn’t particularly remember how he gets home after that. There’s somewhat of a dim memory of stumbling up the steps, clumsily shouldering the door open - he barely remembers to shove the old milk in the fridge.

Heat creeps up his neck by the minute, he can feel sweat beading down his neck, his shoulders - he strips his shirt off, throwing it onto the nearest chair. Normally, he’d take a shower to cool off, but he’s too buzzed, on a retroactive high from the events of the night, eating into the nape of his neck.

_But we’ve just met._

He lets himself fall into bed. What time is it, even? He’s not sure. Everything’s melting together, a messy recollection of the night that only fragments into colors.

_Need a light?_

Vision falling hazy, he holds his palm up into the dim, grey light. The bandaid sits haphazardly on his left hand - he can almost feel Ten’s touch ghosting the cut.

Maybe it’s far from serendipitous, the way he’s met Ten. They could just be strangers. Their meeting could mean absolutely nothing, just another byproduct of his overactive mind, weaving an imaginary thread that’s not quite there.

Yukhei peels the bandaid back ever so slightly - the pain twinges against his skin, reminding him, _it’s not a dream._

Yukhei tries not to resent how fucking _fond_ he feels for someone’s he’s just met.

_Ten._

_Like the number?_

And somehow, he drifts off, dreaming of a haloed boy.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u...for reading. i haven't written in a good couple years, it's nice to be back! comments & kudos always appreciated, mwah <3 
> 
> this is probably gonna be around 5-6 chapters, i feel - no guarantee on that number tho...i'm...a tired....mf...sjdnfskjdnfksd


End file.
